


Powder Blue Bleach

by borrowed_veins



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowed_veins/pseuds/borrowed_veins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goosebumps immediately rose on the skin of his arms and stomach, but whether it was due to the sudden exposure to the cool air of his bedroom or to the unexpected presence of Frank sitting on his bed, he didn’t know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powder Blue Bleach

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing something quick and simple, and I ended up with this. It's sad, but I can't decide exactly how sad. Prepare your feelers.

The powder blue bleach rinsed out of Gerard’s hair faster than he’d anticipated, but he was still getting used to the cut. He couldn’t remember the last time his hair provided such little resistance to the process of lathering, rinsing, repeating. Though it felt like he had only been a few minutes under the hot irregular spray, the air in the small bathroom dripped with humidity and the water condensed on the off-white walls. He wiped at the dirty mirror over the sink with one hand, as he towel-dried the short spikes of now-blonde hair with the other. Positioning himself in front of the oblong area of clear reflective surface, he was reminded of those makeover shows and their obsession with the big reveal – those makeover shows he continually found himself watching but with a general uncertainty as to why. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror, just a stretch of the lips, just baring his teeth.

Beginning to sweat in the warm, wet air leftover from his shower, he slipped on a pair of boxers that he was 94% sure was clean and stepped out of his bathroom. Goosebumps immediately rose on the skin of his arms and stomach, but whether it was due to the sudden exposure to the cool air of his bedroom or to the unexpected presence of Frank sitting on his bed, he didn’t know.

It had been a while since Frank last dropped by unannounced. Two months. Gerard knew exactly how long it had been since Frank gave up that habit, the habit of just showing up at his apartment or at most shooting him a quick text informing him that he was on his way over. It had been two months since Best Friends had become Something More, and then Something More became Just Bandmates. But, Gerard guessed, Frank still had a key.

Frank said nothing when Gerard walked in. He didn’t even look up, but just continued to sit propped up against Gerard’s headboard, one leg extended and the other curled under his knee so his dirty sneakers weren’t on the mattress. He only carried on staring at his hands, alternately loosely grasping and then clutching one another. One section of hair fell across his forehead, curling slightly, threatening to obscure Gerard’s view of his face. From where he stood, Gerard could see the slight crease in Frank’s forehead as his eyebrows drew together.

“So,” Gerard said, trying to break the silence. “What do you think?”

He reached up, running his hand over the damp hair. His scalp burned from the bleach. He shifted his weight on his feet, unsure about approaching the man on his bed.

Frank said nothing. Gerard sighed.

“Frankie, look at me.”

When Frank’s eyes finally flicked up at Gerard, the now-blonde caught a glimpse of the youthful recklessness of their early years together. Frank’s right hand twitched, almost like it wanted to reach out and touch Gerard’s new hair.

Then it was gone. That look in his eyes was replaced by something entirely unfamiliar to Gerard, at least in those hazel eyes. It wasn’t sadness or anger, though Gerard might have preferred either of those emotions. No, it was resignation. 

Gerard forgot the residual burn of the bleach. He knew seeing that look in Frank’s eyes should make him feel sad, and he supposed somewhere, to some extent, it did. More than that, though, Gerard felt a sense of relief. At least Frank wasn’t hurting anymore. Frank would be okay. And so would he, one day.

Frank stood up, slowly, as if a phantom knee ache was acting up. Gerard saw his steps stutter a bit as he walked past him, and he wondered briefly if Frank would stop. 

Stop and do what, he wondered.

Frank looked back at him once he reached the bedroom door, smiling slightly, though the bags under his eyes made it look cheerless. Then, he was gone. Out into the hall where Gerard could hear him rummaging around, perhaps through a drawer. Gerard knew there were plenty of Franks belongings strewn about his apartment that he could be looking for. 

Gerard didn’t follow, not right away. Despite a penchant for sweeping metaphors, Gerard wasn’t thinking about their relationship or the break up, if you could even call it that, when he’d bought the bleach. He’d only needed hair to match his feeling of the end of an era, or perhaps the beginning of a new one.

Gerard walked into his living room, and on the coffee table he saw a key sitting atop a note. Drawing closer to the table, despite his legs’ apparent resistance, he could make out the scrawl of Frank’s handwriting: “At least hair grows back.”


End file.
